


i will not ask you - neither should you

by tiredhealer



Series: Danteli Cinematic Universe [3]
Category: Brighthearth, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Other, a 40-60 ration to sex and yearning with a sprinkling of angst, aureli's birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredhealer/pseuds/tiredhealer
Summary: It's Aureli's birthday. What they want more than anything is a single truth from Dante.
Relationships: Aureli/Dante, Danteli
Series: Danteli Cinematic Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029147
Kudos: 1





	i will not ask you - neither should you

Twenty five. Aureli wakes on the morning of a birthday they never thought they’d see, sprawled naked and alone in silk sheets with the dawn sun slipping through the cracks in their curtains. 

They curl onto their side, one hand trailing over the space where Dante would be if he’d stayed the night. He’d left them before they’d fallen asleep, whispering a promise to find them in the morning. They hate to admit how cold and large the bed feels without him. 

What will it be like once they’re on the road again? When all their nights are spent alone and without his lips, his hands, his voice against their ear? A month they’ve had with him and already they cannot picture the rest of their months without him. 

Aureli sighs and sits up slowly, each notch of their spine aching as they struggle into sitting. They’re being foolish. They had twenty four years without Dante, they will survive after him just fine. 

Even if they don’t want to. 

Aureli rubs their hands along their thighs, smoothing sensation back into their sleep-numbed legs before they rise to face the day. They consider writing to someone, telling them what today is. Anya, perhaps? Or Maloriana?

No. If they tell Maloriana she’ll want to gift them something when they return, she’ll want to have a belated celebration and today will be enough birthday to last them another year. Anya could likely be trusted to keep it a secret, though she might say happy birthday in her reply and Aureli isn’t sure they can stand the reminder. 

So no letters. Not today. 

Instead, they find their robe on the floor where Dante threw it last night after peeling it off of them and drape it back over themselves, tying the silk loosely around their waist. They pick up their cane from where it is hooked over the back of the bed and slip on sandals before heading out of their room and through the palace.

Outside, the dawn is a pale pink streak in the sky, the sun rising over the edges of the palace walls. The walkways are marble and stone, the flowers blooming in their beds lush with summer life. Aureli stops to trace fingertips over the parted mouth of a rosebud and thinks of their mother.

Where is she now? Their time in Capital has proven she’s alive - or at least _was_ alive, after leaving them those fourteen years ago. 

Fifteen years now. And ten years since Clarence. 

Their fingers tighten around the rose and a petal breaks off in their shuddering grip. Aureli grits their teeth and takes a breath, forces the bile in the back of their throat down and leaves the flowers before they can do more harm. 

Their cane against the stone with the dribbling of the fountains is the only sound as they make their way through the courtyard towards the palace bathhouse where it sits tucked against the eastern wall. Their thumb turns anxious circles over the tip of their cane as they walk. The party tonight will be a grand affair with nobles from all over Blithe. Aureli doesn’t want to see them. It feels too much like being fifteen again, like having dozens of eyes upon them after their brother died.

They make themself stop. Close their eyes and tip their face back to the sun. Tonight will be different. They’re not a scared child anymore. They’re an adult and, besides, once the introductions are through they doubt Dante will object to them slipping away. To going back to bed to celebrate _properly._

Aureli descends the small set of stairs that lead to the bathhouse; a long, rectangular building with a flat roof and columns all around the outside to make an inner courtyard before the stone walls of the bathhouse proper. The water is a natural hot spring, one of many scattered throughout Joy and Aureli stands for a moment in the steam rolling off of it, breathing deep and letting it soothe the persistent ache in their lungs.

They shed their robe, folding it neatly and setting it one of the benches before descending into the water. The heat of it rolls along their ankles, between their thighs, up along their hips. They keep walking until they’re submerged till their shoulders and they tip their head back, closing their eyes and revelling in the warmth. 

For a long time, it’s quiet. They can hear the distant hum of bird song, the soft lull of life beginning to stir within the palace, and then the sound of footsteps entering the bathhouse, the sound of sandaled feet across stone. They don’t dare to hope it might be him. 

They can’t hide their delight when it is. 

Dante sheds his robe at the edge of the waters and leaves it to puddle at his feet. Through the rising steam from the heat he is a mirage of shimmering gold and red, like something out of a dream. Aureli can’t repress their smile as they wade back through the water towards him, leaning up into his waiting embrace eagerly. 

‘Good morning,’ they sigh into the crook of his neck. His body is warm from the sun already and warming further from the steam. He puts his arms around them, letting his hands slide over the wet of their hips, down to the curve of their spine and lower to rest light on their ass. 

‘Good morning,’ he says and places a kiss against their temple. ‘Happy birthday, love.’

Their hands roam across the tattooed lines of his back, down to where his tail connects to his spine. The skin is pierced there, because of course it is, and Aureli rubs their fingers between the metal to feel how Dante shivers against them. It was a mistake, ever letting them discover that spot was sensitive. 

‘You’re up early,’ he hums against their temple. ‘Surely a birthday warrants a morning in bed?’

They think of all the mornings they’ve spent in bed of late; sprawled on their back with Dante between their thighs, or between his thighs, tucked against his chest, pressing kisses to his throat. What are they going to do, when they do not have that morning routine anymore?

‘I was thinking we could save that for tomorrow,’ Aureli says. ‘If you have the morning to spare?’

Dante hums in contemplation and his fingers dance in patterns along their spine. ‘I’m not sure…I have a few important things I had to do.’

Aureli is about to pout at him, about to insist that actually, it’s _more important_ that he spend the morning in bed with them, but Dante cuts them off with a kiss. 

‘I need to kiss here,’ he whispers. ‘And here,’ his lips find their throat, sucking at their pulse point. ‘And I need to touch here,’ as his hands squeeze their ass, pulling them against him tighter so they can feel the hardening shaft of his cock against them. It makes Aureli whine and Dante moans very quietly in response, his lips working against their throat.

‘So you see love, I’m just not sure if I’ll have time.’

Beneath the water, their hips are grinding together in slow, lazy motions. Aureli’s fingers clench tight around his hip, their fingers pressing tighter to that sensitive spot on Dante’s tail. 

‘You can’t do this to me here,’ Aureli pants. They manage to open their eyes to stare towards the door. ‘Anyone could come in.’

‘Let them.’ Dante says, and then he has his hand around their cock and he’s tugging them that final way towards being fully hard and aching in his hand. ‘We’ll give them a show, hm?’

Aureli makes a sound they’d never made before Dante, a needy, lilting sound of want, a sound they’ve made far too often lately. It makes Dante’s cock twitch against their hip and he tilts his head to kiss them; messily, his lips parted, his tongue flicking against theirs. 

‘Besides,’ he whispers when they part for breath. ‘I paid the servants to keep the door locked for an hour.’

‘Only an hour?’ Aureli says. Their teasing is cut short by the way Dante’s fingers twist around their cock. ‘Gods, I need you to hurry up and fuck me then.’

They stagger towards the edge of the pool, Aureli moving on shaking, unsteady legs that for once are not weak from pain but rather from the way they want him so badly they might just lose themself over it. Dante stops only once to pluck a vial of oil from the pocket of his robe and that sends their thoughts into a frenzy: _he came looking for me with that, they came looking for me because he wants to fuck me, gods he’s going to do it now, I need him to do it now._

And he does. He fucks them on the floor of the bathhouse; Aureli on their knees with their head resting on their arms, Dante behind them between their thighs, his cock hot and tight inside them fucking them open until they come apart with a desperate cry. They want all their birthdays to be like this, forever. Then perhaps they might be bearable. 

When Dante finishes his fingers pinch against their hip hard enough they know it will leave marks. They hope those marks will last long after they leave Joy. They want to tattoo the imprint of his fingertips onto them forever.

Well, alright. That one might be the afterglow talking.

‘I was hoping for breakfast in bed,’ Aureli says breathlessly as Dante pulls out. ‘But that was nice too.’ 

Dante giggles and places a kiss against the dip of their spine. ‘Only nice? I’ve been spoiling you if that was only nice.’ 

Aureli rolls onto their back and lays against the warmth of the tiles as Dante slips back into the water. Their hair floats like black mist against the water as he submerges himself. Aureli watches him quietly; the way the dim light plays over his piercings, the curls of ink along his forehead and temple, the high arch of his cheekbones. He’s sharp and angled and impossibly beautiful. 

It surprises Aureli, sometimes, that he wants them as much as they want him. Not that they think they’re ugly - they know how they look, even if they do veer towards gaunt at times. It’s only…

Dante tucks his chin over the edge of the pool, mismatched eyes watching them, slightly narrowed. ‘I thought you said that was nice.’ 

Aureli blinks at him, ‘Hm? It was.’

He reaches out to tap their nose with a wet, pointed nail. ‘That look on your face doesn’t say nice.’ 

‘I was thinking.’ 

Dante’s eyebrows raise in a silent question. 

‘You have spoiled me,’ they say, and catch his hand in theirs. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

He watches them in silence for a long moment, where Aureli worries they’ve said too much, let themself be too vulnerable. But his hand squeezes around theirs and he uses that to tug them closer, to place a chaste kiss against their lips. 

‘I’ll have to keep spoiling you before you leave, so you have plenty to remember me by. I can’t have you forgetting.’ 

Aureli laughs at his teasing and slips back into the water to join him. ‘Now you’re just fishing for compliments, you know exactly how memorable you are.’

Dante pouts at them, the effect rather ruined by the way he struggles to hide his laughter. ‘Is it so wrong to want to feel appreciated?’

They get their arms around his shoulders and pull him in to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll show you appreciated.’

They spend the rest of the hour in lazy affection; kissing with none of their earlier urgency, Aureli washing Dante’s hair with some of the scented bottles the bathhouse leave out for use and Dante taking his time in rubbing soap along their calves, their thighs, deliberately then skipping up to their stomach and laughing when they pout at him.

Then, wordlessly, the doors open again. They find their way out of the water, a little pruned on their toes and fingers, and Dante plucks fresh towels from the servants to wrap them both in. Wound together beneath the soft fabric everything is warm and smells of lavender and Aureli presses another kiss against the centre of Dante’s chest, wishing they never had to leave.

But they do. Their birthday and the rest of the world awaits.

‘Your Cousin asked me to invite you for breakfast, once you were free.’

Aureli looks up at him. _Am I free?_ They want to ask. But asking for any more of his time than they’ve had already makes them feel dangerously close to seeming needy. They fear nothing will make him run quicker. 

‘I had better get dressed, then.’

'And ruin the view?’ 

They step away from him, pink along their cheeks from how openly he looks at them, how openly he wants them. Will they ever get used to it? They hope not. It is a dizzying feeling. 

‘The view and I will see you later, darling.’

He takes his time in looking back up along the length of their legs and the lines of their chest. ‘I look forward to it, love.’

He slips back into his morning robe and blows them a kiss as he leaves. Aureli watches him disappear out of the steam of the bathhouse and into the morning light. Their heart twists treacherously in their chest as they watch him leave. They won’t acknowledge why.

***

They take breakfast with Cousin on the balcony of his bedroom. The Jarl’s quarters are, obviously, a lavish affair; a suite that runs four rooms long complete with the balcony that holds a sweeping view of the entire city. 

A servant leads them through to where Cousin is waiting at a table laden with breakfast and with boxes wrapped in silk and a pile of letters. He beams at the sight of them and rises from the table to throw his arms around them. Cousin has been the same ever since they were children; big, boisterous, all the subtlety of an ox.

Aureli feels suddenly overcome with how much they love him. Their Cousin who stood by them when few else did after Clarence, who gave them a purpose and gives them his love at every turn.

They fist their hands in the silk of his tunic and rise up onto their tiptoes so they can press their face against his shoulder. He smells like the cypress trees that flank the city walls and of the perfume he wears that’s tinged with hints of sage. His long ash blonde hair reaches his shoulders so it tickles against Aureli’s cheeks along with the rough scratch of his beard as he kisses their forehead. 

‘Happy birthday, Aureli!’ he says. They cannot see his face, but they can hear his smile in his words.

‘Thank you,’ they say. They do not feel especially thankful on this day, but they appreciate the sentiment all the same. 

‘Sit, won’t you? I had breakfast brought up for us, and of course I have gifts. Did Dante find you? He was talking about seeing you before breakfast.’

Cousin has always had a habit of talking too much when he’s excited. He’s doing it now, and when he mentions Dante he gives them that knowing look that Aureli has long since been adept at ignoring. 

‘He did,’ is all the answer they give him as they fold themself down into the opposing chair. There are dishes of fresh fruit and soft pastries waiting for them and Aureli piles a small plate with peaches and cream and strawberries. 

Cousin tilts his head and gives them that look again, apparently deciding to be stubborn. Aureli smiles in return and pops a piece of peach into their mouth, staring at him in silence until he gives up and relents. 

'Fine - but you know he talks to me about you.’

Aureli narrows their eyes. They very much doubt that, and if they do it’s likely nothing of consequence. Dante, for all his flattery and flirting, keeps his _actual_ feelings and thoughts very close to his chest. It’s something Aureli feels alternatively delighted and frustrated by.

‘Then you will just have to listen to him, hm?’

Cousin laughs and shakes his head at them. He has a habit of finding their stubbornness endearing. Aureli isn’t sure how. 

‘I suppose I shall! Here, take this, from me.’ 

He passes the package wrapped with silk across the table towards them. By the weight and shape of it, Aureli can guess it’s books. And they’re right - well, almost. It’s a set of expensive looking leather journals, dyed a bright and brilliant silver. Aureli traces their fingernails over the dragons etched into the front with a small smile.

‘They are beautiful.’

‘I thought - well, you’re out on the road now, hm? You can use them as travel journals to keep track of all the places you’ve been.’

Aureli imagines filling these beautiful books with the tales from their journey so far, ruining them with images of death and destruction and blood on every page. 

Even so. It is a tremendously sweet gesture. 

‘Thank you that’s - that’s very thoughtful,’ their throat feels a little tight. They swallow around the feeling and press it down, they will not cry. 

‘Of course! I know from Dante how difficult things were for you in Excess, and I imagine the rest of your travels have been equally as…’

‘Exhausting? Terrible? Painful?’

Cousin laughs ruefully. ‘Quite so. But it has been good for you, those friends have been good for you. I can see it already.’

‘You can?’ Aureli asks as they roll a piece of strawberry over their tongue. They chew contemplatively on the sweetness as they examine whether that’s true - Anya has unlocked something in their heart, a softness they had thought lost to them, Maloriana made them speak of their mother without weeping for the first time in years, Quinn gave them Zaida and can, they admit, make them laugh from time to time. 

‘Yes! They’ve brought you out of yourself. You seem much more confident in yourself. It’s a lovely change to see.’

They had never thought of themself as lacking confidence, but perhaps Cousin is right in that they are decidedly less insular. They speak their mind as opposed to muttering it to Janus. 

‘I suppose,’ Aureli murmurs. They glance over at where the letters are piled. Dread stirs cold in their stomach. ‘What are those?’

‘Those - oh, of course! I wrote to your father to let him know you would be in Joy for your birthday so he could send your birthday wishes here.’

Aureli wants to vomit. ‘Ah.’

Cousin hands over the letters - one from father, one from Evelyn, one from Marinus and one from Portia. They read the ones from Evelyn and Marinus first; as usual, their half siblings have little to say to them. The letters combined make little more than four lines wishing them a happy birthday and good luck for the new year. 

The letter from Portia they read next. Their sister will be twenty three now, a woman grown. She’s home in Pleasure still, preparing to take over the estate for father once he passes most likely. They wouldn’t know. It isn’t like she talks to them.

Her letter is longer than that from their half siblings, but only just. 

_Dear Aureli,_

_Happy twenty fifth birthday. I hope this letter finds you in good health and that the year ahead is kind to you._

_Cousin tells us that you are travelling with a group from all over Brighthearth. I’m sure you have done your very best to endear yourself to them in the way only you can, as you had so many friends back home._

_I want to stop being angry with you, Aureli. I want to forgive you. I do not know if I can. But I have been talking with Evelyn and she said something I cannot forget: I had no decision in losing mother, or in losing Clarence. But I can choose if I lose you._

_Come home to see us before your next birthday. I will have chosen by then, I think._

_Best Wishes,_

_Portia of House Blithe._

Aureli bites their lip very hard to stop themself from crying. They think of their sister; Portia, who lost their mother before she had a chance to know her, who has skill with a sword and a bow that Aureli never will, who wears her dark hair in braids and has a laugh like bells.

Not that she ever laughed much around Aureli.

They do not want to lose her either. Though, truth be told, they had already long since thought her lost. Aureli takes a slow, measured breath, and sets the letter aside. They will have to think about that later. 

For now, they have another beast to face. 

The letter from father is plainly marked, with only their name and the palace address. Aureli gives it a shake and finds it light; no gift inside, no trinket or ornament to pretend at care.

They break the wax seal. The letter waits inside.

They cannot make themself open it. Aureli snaps it shut and places it with the other letters, hoping Cousin cannot see the way they shake.

‘Aureli,’ he says gently. 

‘No,’ they say - they _spit -_ and they shake their head, try to make themself gentle for the one member of the family that loves them still. ‘Cousin, please. I can’t. Not now.’

Cousin looks at them over their breakfast, the breakfast he had prepared for them, the breakfast he added peaches to because they like them even though Aureli knows he hates the taste. They see him fight with the urge to say: he is your father, he loves you despite it all, what harm could reading it do?

He shakes his head. The light catches the clasp on his gown and sends shivers of light across the table. ‘Of course. Here, open this instead.’

Cousin passes them another present and Aureli clutches it tight. This one is soft, undoubtedly some sort of gown. ‘Thank you,’ they say, not for the gift but rather for him letting it go. For letting them let it go.

The next gift is not a dress but rather a robe, a light affair so thin it’s sheer with silver beading up along the hems and a rose, petals unfurling, stitched onto the back. They imagine wearing it for Dante, letting him see the lines of their body beneath it. Not why Cousin had it made for them - and the craftsmanship is impeccable - but a new purpose, one they like more. Before this, it’s a robe they would have worn over their Blithe silks back in Capital, when they wanted to remind someone who they were and where they were from.

‘Not entirely practical for your life on the road, I know,’ Cousin laughs. ‘But I hope you like it all the same.’

They imagine wearing this as they make camp at night, getting the fine sheer material streaked with mud and blood, the sleeves stained by spilt pools of Maloriana’s tea or Anya’s drink. Quinn might try to ruin the fineary of it for fun. 

Despite everything, the thought makes them smile. 

‘I love it,’ they say. 

They look over at Cousin, backed by the light of the dawning sun, with gifts still to hand ready to give to them. He must have had this robe ordered months ago. 

‘I love you,’ they say, soft and sincere.

Their Cousin blinks at them in obvious surprise. When was the last time they told him that - have they ever? The thought shames them. They will have to tell him more often. He deserves that much, for what he risked by keeping them close and at court.

‘Aureli,’ he says, and gives them a smile so bright it makes their heart ache in their chest. ‘I love you too, of course! And I’m glad you could be here for today and we could spend it together.’

Aureli lies so often it’s as easy and comfortable as breathing. But for once they are being totally and entirely honest when they say, ‘So am I.’

***

After breakfast, Aureli returns to their room. They slip their new shawl on over their gown and leave their books and their letters in their room.

All save one. They take their father’s letter and walk far from their bedroom, back to the ledge near where they hid that day after they realised what Janus had done. What they had done. 

The truth still feels like having their ribcage peeled back, feels like having their heart exposed. All those years everyone said they killed Clarence and a part of them knew it was true, that if he had not taken them out that day he would have lived. But now, to know that Janus had taken him, had taken him on their word, no matter how much that word was manipulated out of them…How can they live with that?

They don’t know. But they suppose they have to find a way. Whether they meant to kill Clarence or not doesn’t matter now. Dead is dead. And he died for them, died because they unintentionally decided he should. They have his life in their fingertips every time they use their magic. And what have they used it for? Nothing good. Only cruelty. Only pettiness. 

They think of the night that Dante first came to their room, when he revealed himself to be like them, when he used their own tricks against them. They remember how vulnerable that made them feel, as wounded as if Dante had taken a spear and impaled them upon it. 

And that’s what they’ve been doing to people for years upon years, using Clarence’s life to do so. What are they? Wretched, Dante had called them both, back when they had asked him to help them kill Janus.

Wretched. How right he was. How right he is. 

They don’t open the letter. They tear it into shreds without reading and throw the scraps over the palace walls to float out over the plains. They watch those feather-light pieces tumble down and know it will be the last time they hear from their father for another year. 

He probably only wrote to them this year because Cousin reminded him, because Cousin is the Jarl and their father cannot defy him in any small way without Cousin having the power, the authority, to take that as a slight. 

They can’t blame him. Would they write to them, in his place? To the child who nearly killed their wife with their birth, who did kill their son with their deeds? No. Instead, they would have wished that Clarence had come back from the beach that day instead.

Cousin told them not to talk like that. But Cousin cannot control their thoughts, cannot shield them from the truth: it _would_ have been better if they’d died in Clarence’s place. He would have used this magic for good. He would have been better. He would - 

‘Excuse me, Mx Aureli?’

The quiet call of a servant drags them out of their own skull. Aureli blinks and comes back to themself to find their fingers digging so hard into the palace wall their nails are white. The pain of it flares up their hands and they let go, giving their wrists a shake.

‘Yes?’ they say, turning to face the elven woman as she waits. ‘What is it?’

‘The Jarl’s advisor is looking for you. He asked if anyone saw you to send you to his office.’

‘Dante?’ they ask, foolishly, as if it would be anyone else.

The servant nods. She’s watching them like they’ve seen Maloriana watch a wounded animal before; nervous, trying to assess if pain will make them fight or flee. 

‘Oh,’ they say. They roll their shoulders, trying to shake the grief from themself. It sticks, as always. ‘Thank you. I’ll go find him.’

They try to leave father and Clarence at the wall. They do not succeed. 

***

When they arrive at Dante’s office they find the door propped open. The tiefling in question perches on the edge of the desk, a book in hand. He’s wearing a pink robe tied loose at the waist with a white sash and Aureli watches him in silence for a comfortable, quiet moment before breaking it.

‘I heard that red clashes with pink.’

He looks up at them and the smile he gives them is small and fiercely delighted. They wonder again just why he was looking for them, does he want a repeat of this morning? They still ache pleasantly from the way he fucked them, they could certainly enjoy a repeat - but it isn’t his usual style, to seek them out via servants. There’s something else going on here and by this smile they aren’t sure they trust it.

‘Well whoever said that obviously never saw me in pink,’ Dante says and closes the book, placing it on his desk before rising. As he moves, Aureli catches a glimpse of matching pink silk shorts beneath the robe. How right he is. 

‘I have to say, given current evidence I am inclined to agree.’

Dante grins at them and leans in to give them the kiss they’ve been waiting for, the kiss they’re always waiting for when he isn’t kissing them. It’s soft and light and Dante gets his hands on their hips and squeezes, just once, before releasing them.

‘The servants said you were looking for me,’ Aureli says into the small space between them. ‘What are you up to?’

‘I would be offended you think I’m up to something, but you know me too well for that.’

Do they? They don’t know his last name or who his patron is or where he was born or if he has a family. All they know is that he is a warlock, like them, that he likes silk robes and there’s barely an inch of him that isn’t tattooed or pierced. They know he was once a member of the Chain from the tattoo on his tongue, but he can’t be a member anymore because he’s here. They know that Cousin trusts him, even if they’re not sure he should. They know they trust him too, despite that. 

‘I suppose I do,’ They say. They cannot keep the uncertainty out of their voice.

Dante pauses, mid-way through slipping his sandals on. He looks up at them, and they know that look, they’ve seen him use it on them and others countless times before. It is a look of quiet assessment. They struggle not to fidget beneath it. 

‘Of course you do,’ he says, and that assessment breaks into a smile. ‘Better than anyone, love.’

Aureli narrows their eyes at him. ‘Oh? After a month I know you better than anyone?’ 

‘It’s been an interesting month.’

‘I’m not an idiot, Dante. I know that because we slept together - because we’re sleeping together - it doesn’t mean I know you inside and out. Intimacy does not equal insight.’

Dante exhales and ties the last thread on his sandal before straightening. ‘Love, I don’t know what you want me to say.’

_I want you to tell me who you are, I want you to let me see beneath that gilded facade of yours to where the heart of you beats. I want to know you so I can tell whether I’m falling in love with a person or a set of flirtations in a silk robe._

They don’t say any of that. Instead they step forwards and wrap their arms around him, placing their cheek against the warmth of his chest. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to - I don’t want this to be an interrogation.’

Dante’s arms slide round them immediately, like instinct, and that makes Aureli press against him harder, overwhelmed by how he doesn’t even think before folding them against him. Maybe if they had known intimacy before him that might not strike them as deeply, but they haven’t, and so it does. They bunch their hands tight in the back of his robe and breathe in the scent of his perfumed skin, forcing down the desire to poke and prod and peel away at him until they can see what they want to see. They are inexperienced, terribly so next to him, but they know that is not how love is built. How it is tended.

‘Who’s interrogating who? I’m not feeling interrogated,’ Dante says and his lips press against their forehead. 

As sweet as it is for him to reassure them, they wish he would trust them instead. _I would keep your secrets as my own, don’t you know that?_ They don’t say it. They press a kiss against the warmth of his chest instead and step back, offering him a smile. 

‘What is it you’re up to then?’

Dante smirks and takes their hand, leading them from the room. ‘Follow me, love.’

He leads them through the palace, past the ballroom and dining halls until they’re in the servants quarters, hurrying past bedrooms and closets of silks to be washed. Aureli realises then where it is they’re going: the roof. There’s a set of stairs from the corner of the servants quarters so they can get up to the flat-lipped roof of the palace. But why?

Aureli hesitates on the stairs. Dante looks down at their linked hands, then up to them. 

‘Why the roof?’

‘Oh, I was thinking I might throw you off.’

Aureli narrows their eyes. He winks at them.

‘It’s a surprise, love.’

They have slept beside him nearly every single night since they started fucking. They’ve trusted him not to slit their throat or smother them as they lay next to him, not to sacrifice them to his patron. They trust he isn’t about to throw them off the roof. They just don’t understand what else he could want to go up there for. 

But, well, they suppose they’ve followed him this far. 

So they follow him up the stairs, through the trap door that Dante has to shove open, and up onto the stone of the roof. The sun is high in the sky and impossibly bright and Aureli squints in the light as Dante leads them forwards to the statues that flank the front of the building.

Below them, before the palace steps, are a cluster of carriages. 

‘Oh,’ Aureli breathes, his intent suddenly clear. ‘The visiting nobles, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Dante smirks. He leans on the edge of the roof, pulling Aureli gently to stand beside him. ‘I thought you might want to see who your guests are for this evening.’

‘Hardly my guests,’ they say, to which Dante laughs. 

They keep his hand in theirs as they lean on the sun-kissed stone and peer down at the woman stepping out of her carriage and into the day. Like this, they can see whoever they like, but they’re blocked by the mass of statues. 

‘Ah, Lady Sophie,’ Dante says as the all too familiar figure steps out. 

‘Ah,’ Aureli grimaces. ‘She is...Not my biggest fan. I exposed her affair when I was at court to get back at her after a slight.’

Dante giggles. ‘How terribly petty of you, love.’

‘In my defence, I was fifteen.’

‘Oh, to be fifteen and petty again.’

‘Were you petty, at fifteen?’ 

Dante doesn’t look at them. He leans over the edge of the roof further to have an excuse to avoid eye contact. ‘Everyone is,’ he says eventually. ‘Even if they think they aren’t.’

It’s as close to an answer as they’re probably ever going to get, so Aureli takes it begrudgingly. They lean against him, resting their head on the sharp jut of his shoulder. He looks down at them then takes his hand from theirs and instead winds it around their waist, pulling them closer against him. Aureli smiles as they let themself revel in the warmth of him. 

Below, another figure steps out of the next carriage. Lord Lucia this time, who’s home sits high to the north and near to the border of Tempest.

‘Ah, Cousin worries about him,’ Aureli hums, their fingers dancing nervous patterns over the stone. ‘His allegiances seem to be closer to Tempest than ours these days.’

Dante hums in quiet agreement. ‘I have eyes ready to be on him for the rest of his stay. Poor things, I feel terrible making them look at dress sense like that for an extended period.’

Aureli smothers a laugh into his arm. ‘Now who’s petty, hm?’

‘I agreed I was petty at fifteen, I never said I outgrew it.’

Below, they watch Lord Lucia step into the palace and another noble’s carriage arrive to replace it. Another woman steps out into the sunshine, her face obscured by a bloom of a hat that might be intended to be gold but is actually a rather putrid shade of yellow. 

‘Oh, no,’ Aureli sighs. ‘She’s still into hats.’

His giggle is high and lilting and lovely. Aureli feels their heart thudding treacherously in their chest at the sound, at the knowing that they want to bottle it and take it back on the road with them so they can uncork it and listen whenever they need to feel warmth. 

‘It seems we stayed petty together.’

‘I prefer pretty, thank you.’

Dante hooks two fingers beneath their chin and tilts their face up towards his. In the sunlight he is radiant. Aureli’s lips part expectantly. 

He hums as his mismatched eyes sweep over them, lingering on their mouth. ‘It would be appropriate.’

Pleasure shoots its way up their spine. ‘Would it?’

He kisses them in answer. He keeps kissing them until they hear the rumble of more wheels over the stone and they part, slowly, reluctantly on Aureli’s part, to look back over. 

But as they do Dante’s hand drops from their waist to squeeze their ass, just once, and over their burst of startled, delighted laughter they almost don’t hear him hum, ‘It definitely would.’

***

The rest of the afternoon they spend preparing, putting on their formal trappings and armour to protect themself from all the eyes that will soon be upon them. It’s strange, to be back in this world so firmly after months on the road. This used to be their life, night after night, navigating nobles and their games and finding ways to use those games for their own benefit. It was as natural to them as breathing; the falsehood, the manipulation, the decadence hiding a means to an end.

And fine, it’s not as if they’ve left that _all_ behind. Lying is still more comfortable than truth. But this is different. It’s a reminder of who they were before they had friends. If the group count as friends. They think they do. 

They hope they do.

They shake their head of the thought, of the ache they feel for Anya and Zaida beneath their ribs and head to their bathroom. There, Aureli rubs oils and scented lotions into their skin to make themself shine and smell of jasmines and roses. They drape themself in a kimono of purple silk that Dante left one morning and they’ve kept ever since, a small show of sentimentality. They bury their nose in the collar for a moment, then make their way back to their room and call a servant for tea. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon lounging on their bed, propped amidst the pillows, reading a novel and nibbling pieces of sweet cake between sips of tea. Outside, they catch the odd passing shadow of a visitor roaming the grounds. They ignore them, rolling over and tucking themself down into the cool spill of silk that smells of Dante’s perfume and the soap he uses for his hair. 

Soon, they will have to face them. But for now, it is their birthday and they remain in their quiet oasis as long as possible. Their book is about a girl who meets a god and runs away with him to help him reclaim a kingdom. Naturally, as in all books of this sort, they fall in love. Naturally, with it being a book, their love endures anything. 

Aureli tries not to dwell on that thought too long. It festers all the same. Will Dante think of them at all, when they’re gone? He told them once they were someone special to him. Aureli has rolled those words over their tongue often since. What _was_ special, exactly? Did it mean he put them above other lovers while they were in Joy or did it mean he’d continue to think of them when they were gone? When he went to bed at night, would he think of them? When he kissed someone else, would he remember their kisses? 

Aureli throws the book aside. Their birthday is a mess enough of a day as it is, they don’t need other feelings stealing in to make it worse. They can talk to Dante before they leave, ask him how he wants things to be. They can come to an agreement, together. They don’t expect him not to take other lovers; let him find his pleasure where he wants it. 

They just want him to remember them.

But there’s no time to dwell; they need to prepare. Aureli calls for another servant, this one to help them dress. They sit before their vanity as she brushes out the pale waves of their hair, then begins braiding various sections until their hair is split into three plaits at the top that bind together into one intricate bun. The hair left out of that spills loose down their back, hanging like a pale wave to their elbows. 

She applies powder to their cheeks, slides pale lines to their eyes and paint of a soft peach to their lips. Their usual make-up is dark, severe, tonight they let it be soft, like pearls and sea-foam. It is deliberate. 

Everyone remembers what happened to Clarence. Everyone remembers what they think Aureli did. So why hide from it? Aureli knows the truth now. Let the whole Court see how unapologetic they are in it; _I know what you think of me, see how I paint my skin with it?_

From there they step into lace undergarments and into a corset of pale white whalebone that drags in the flat lines of their torso to give themself a shape that curves in at the waist. They almost like themselves, like this. The fashion in Blithe calls for things far more open and airy, but Aureli enjoys the feeling of being pinched in, of feeling shaped and sculpted. 

Over the corset goes a gown that is more the traditional Blithe fashion. A pale blue, so light it is almost white, with a v-neck bust line that dips down to just above the start of the corset. The neckline and bust are covered in silver detailing, stitched into swirling lines that might depict constellations or might depict the rolling tides of the sea. The detailing spreads down into the skirts where the fabric pools out in loose, flowing drapery, falling around their legs like waves. The sleeves are short, not reaching their elbows, covered in more stitching and jewels to match. The open sleeves loop round to a cape that falls down their back, mingling with the skirts of their gown as a train. 

Aureli adds silver bracelets and rings, slips their feet into silver sandals with pale laces that go up to their knees. Then they stand before the full length mirror, turning carefully, admiring the way the jewels in their skirts catch the candlelight and glint. 

‘I suppose it shall do, hm?’ Aureli says.

The servant smiles at them. Before she can feel obliged to compliment them, Aureli asks her to fetch a cane from the cupboard, one of pale wood with faint blue detailing around the grip.

As she goes, there’s a knock at the door. Aureli turns back to the mirror and says, ‘Yes?’

The door clicks open. Aureli’s too busy adjusting their sleeves to pay much attention until they glance into their reflection and see Dante standing in the doorway. 

Aureli stares at him in the mirror of the vanity. His black hair is pushed back from his face, curling around the golden piercings in his horns and ears. All his piercings tonight are gold, and the gemstone in his septum piercing shines a deep and devastating black. His eyes are lined in gold, his lips painted black around the piercings. Aureli wants him to leave dark prints along the pale line of their throat, so they can have proof his mouth was there.

Dante’s gown is black too; a robe of silk with sleeves cut short to bare the lines of his tattoos to the dim light, a plunging neckline that reveals lines of gold chain that begin as a necklace around his throat and spread down and down. His nipples aren’t bared, but Aureli can tell by the bumps beneath the fabric that the chains connect to his nipple piercings too. 

At the waist the robe pulls tight then pools around his legs and down to the floor where gold sandals wind around his feet. But as he moves towards them Aureli watches the silk shift and it makes their tongue feel heavy in their mouth; the dress has slits that expose his legs up to the thigh when he moves, and he’s wearing golden stockings with lace fastenings that go up, out of sight. 

‘Dante,’ Aureli whispers. They can’t stop looking at the gold wrapped around his thighs. ‘I think you are trying to upstage me.’

‘I _was_ thinking of you when I picked this,’ Dante smirks. He stands behind them, takes one of their hands, then places it on the top of the stocking where the lace meets skin. ‘It’s your birthday, after all. I thought you should have something to unwrap.’

They rub their fingers against the spot where silk meets skin. He’s so warm. Dante hooks his chin over their shoulder, wrapping an arm around their waist to pull them back tight against him. The heat of him presses against their hips and spine and their lips part in a quiet gasp.

It’s the shadow of the servant in the mirror that brings them back to themself, that stops them from asking him to bend them over the vanity right then. She’s stood a small distance back, cane in hands, eyes dutifully trained down.

‘Thank you,’ Aureli calls. ‘Leave it on the bed, if you would. That will be all.’

She gives a nod, a dip of a bow, and leaves them be. When the door clicks quiet behind her, Aureli lets themself be greedy and rocks their hips back against Dante. 

He presses a sigh against their throat. ‘You’re going to make us late for your own party.’

‘Oh, it’s me is it?’ they say as, in the mirror, they watch Dante’s hand move over their dress. He isn’t as clever as he thinks, they can see exactly what he’s up to. ‘You’re the one getting black lipstick on my throat.’

‘I can put it somewhere more discreet, if you’d like.’

The thought thrills them, but they laugh instead and writhe out of his grip. ‘I can’t be late. Much as I’d rather not go at all.’

‘We’ll celebrate properly afterwards, hm?’ Dante reaches behind him and plucks, seemingly out of nowhere, a small box wrapped in pale silver paper. ‘Speaking of which.’

Aureli stares at the present with wide eyes. They don’t reach for it. They almost do not dare. ‘For me?’ they say eventually.

‘Who else?’ 

In the silence that follows, Dante tilts his head at them and narrows his eyes. ‘Aureli,’ he says in that soft, serious voice they’ve heard from him on only a handful of occasions. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t get you a gift?’

They smile, ‘I thought you were the gift?’

‘Aureli.’

‘I didn’t expect anything,’ they answer, reluctantly. ‘I didn’t want to assume that we were at the….gift giving stage.’

It sounds awkward even to their ears. The weight of their inexperience overwhelms them and they take a shuddering breath, resisting the urge to twist their hands together. 

‘I like to give gifts.’ Dante says. ‘And I like you. The two go together quite naturally, in my opinion.’ 

He offers the box out again. This time, Aureli takes it. They stroke fingertips over the shining paper carefully, then break the seal at the side and pop the box open. Inside, nestled in soft paper, two pearl earrings gleam up at them with a matching set of pale jade earrings hanging on a silver chain. 

‘These match my outfit,’ Aureli says. Too late, their shock subsides and they realise what they actually should have said is, ‘Oh! Thank you.’

Dante smirks at them. ‘They do match! Almost as if someone spoke to your tailor, hm?’

Aureli steps closer to him, reaching up to trace fingertips over his jawline. ‘Why did you have to wear that black lipstick? I’m desperate to kiss you.’

‘I’m sure we have time to clean up.’

He leans in, intentions clear, and Aureli smirks and places a finger against his lips to stop him. ‘Ah, ah. I spent far too long getting ready for that.’ 

Dante takes the tip of their finger into his mouth and sucks and they stagger back, laughing, delighted by him. 

‘You’re terrible,’ they tell him.

‘I am,’ he agrees. 

Gods, they’re in love with him. The thought swells in their chest, burrows up their throat, threatens to make them cry. Aureli turns and fusses with their present instead, slipping the earrings into the two pierced holes in their ears. They tilt their head, focusing on the way they look rather than the way their heart is thudding in their chest. 

‘Quite lovely. Thank you.’

Dante hugs them from behind again, looking pleased, almost smug. They wonder when he had the earrings ordered. How long he’s been holding onto them. They take his hands and squeeze them tight, offering him a small smile in the mirror. If he can see the hint of tears still threatening, he doesn’t comment, just holds them tight.

In a way, that says more than his words might ever have.

***

Aureli enters the ballroom to find it already full, already crowded with bodies decked in gowns of silk and lace. They enter with their arm linked through Dante’s but they separate as they are announced to the crowd.

‘Noble Aureli of House Blithe!’ the servant calls. ‘Advisor to the Jarl and honoured guest tonight, the night of their birthday.’

Aureli stands tall, both hands clasped on the top of their cane as their eyes sweep across the crowd. They pluck out where their Cousin is smiling at them, where other choice nobles are scattered throughout the crowds. A murmur of applause goes through the room. They cast a look back at Dante who winks at them before stepping forwards to be announced. 

‘Dante, esteemed advisor to the Jarl and his honoured guest!’

Another rumble of applause, this one a little louder, though Aureli notices a few who do not clap at all. Interesting. It shouldn’t be surprising that Dante has made enemies as well as friends during his time at court, but they’ll be interested to see _who_ falls where. 

For now, they let the current of bodies steer them through to where their Cousin is waiting. He smiles for them, as he always does and has, and wraps his arms around to hold them tight. 

‘You look wonderful!’ he proclaims when they part. 

‘As do you Cousin, very striking,’ they smile.

He does too, with his hair pulled to the side in a short braid, his beard neat and smelling of lavender. His outfit is a long chiton of deep crimson, pinned with accents of gold. They resist the urge to tease him about matching Dante. 

Instead, they let the crowds descend upon them. Nobles with comments about their hair or outfit, or ones they knew long ago in Pleasure who remark upon how tall they’ve become, how much like their mother or father they look - that comment varies from person to person, and so Aureli is left with the distinct impression they look like neither.

It isn’t long before dinner is called. The crowds mill from the ballroom through to the formal dining space that has been set up with a long, long table with trays in the centre filled with food. Aureli takes their seat beside Cousin at the head of the table, flanked on either sides by nobles from South Blithe. 

They catch sight of Dante on the other side of the table. He’s already found himself a glass of wine and he’s sipping it in between bursts of conversation with the noble beside him. Lady Sophie. Aureli stares at her; she’s thinner than the last time they saw her, a gauntness hugging her cheeks and the jut of her chin. Despite that, she’s smiling at whatever Dante is saying to her and she’s leaning towards him. Is she...No, she isn’t flirting with him, surely? 

Or is he flirting with her?

The thought makes their throat tight. He wouldn’t, would he? Knowing what they know about Aureli and Sophie? 

Dante glances across the table before they look away. He catches their wide-eyed stare and winks. 

They swallow around the knot in their throat. If he is flirting, he doesn’t mean it. It’s a game, a trick. 

They hope. They have to trust it is.

Aureli turns their attention back to the food on display, slipping a few pieces of meat and salad onto their plate. They pick at the ham glazed in honey, chew listlessly on a few neatly cut sections of salted tomatoes, roll olives over their tongue and wash them away with rich red wine. It is a gorgeous spread, but they’ve never had much of an appetite for these banquet settings. 

Still, being sat beside Cousin means that conversation mainly rolls past them to where he is, focusing on issues of trade and customs and how the weather is treating all of them. Aureli is only half listening. They are far away, wondering about what Anya and Mal and the others are eating for dinner during their month apart. 

‘Aureli?’

They blink, pulling themself out of thoughts of Anya mostly existing on a diet of alcohol and bread, and look over to the man speaking to them. Lord Aemos, from the East. From Excess, specifically. 

‘Pardon me, I was miles away,’ Aureli says without any note of real apology in their tone. 

‘Of course, of course. I was only asking - well, your Cousin said you’re travelling and that your group was in Excess the other week?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Aureli answers. They pop another olive into their mouth, bite down, let the juices wet over their tongue and between their teeth. 

‘Yes, he said you dealt with a party that, as it turns out, was a covering for some rather sinister goings on.’ 

Aureli glances at him. There’s a note of anxiety clinging to his skin as strongly as the perfume that smells too-pungently of lilies. ‘We did indeed. Were you aware of these gatherings, Lord Aemos?’

‘There are parties in Excess all the time - parties throughout all of Blithe! You must be aware of that, being from Pleasure, Noble Aureli.’ 

They narrow their eyes at him. So he’s afraid Cousin will believe them involved? Strange, given Cousin is well aware who was facilitating the parties. Unless, of course, he _was_ involved and is now desperately trying to cover his tracks.

‘Oh, all the time,’ Aureli agrees. 

Aemos’ shoulders start to slump with relief.

Aureli smiles. ‘Of course, those parties don’t usually involve special guests being hauled into a pit and dropped to their death at the end. They don’t usually hire goons to attempt to murder anyone in the way. And what happened to those bodies in the pit - shall I describe it to you, Lord Aemos? The blood? The way they were torn apart and stacked in heaps?’

The shoulders slide right back up to beneath Aemos’ ears. His pale skin turns a milky colour. ‘I - no, no, please, I understand well enough.’

‘But do you?’ Aureli pauses, as they feel a cold slither pass through their skull. Janus, for the first time in weeks. Janus, _pleased_ by their deliberate attempts to make Lord Aemos squirm. That’s how they know they’re being awful, letting the cruellest side of themself slide into the light. 

‘No matter,’ they say before he can reply. ‘There was no way for you to know what was going on at that party, Lord Aemos, not truly. If you did you would not be here today, I know that. Let us leave that ugliness in the past.’

The cold seeps away from them, disappointed. If Janus appears in their dreams tonight it will be to take their face between her iron-clad palms to tell them how _let down_ she is. How _boring_ they’ve become. Their grip tightens around their fork at the thought of her in that bar, pinning them to the seat with her body as she once did, her fingertips digging into the edges of their temple.

‘Aureli!’ It is Dante’s voice, sing-song sweet, that drags them away from that dark bar and Janus’ pale hands.

They look over at them, releasing their grip on the fork, their fingers aching from the pressure.

‘Love,’ he says as they blink at him. ‘You have to try the fish. It’s divine.’

Aureli sluggishly looks to where he’s gesturing, at the plate of fresh salmon that’s pink and glistening. They nod mutley and heap a small pile onto their plate. Their hands are shaking, just a little. When they look back to Dante he offers them a small smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, then he turns back to the conversation he was in. 

Did he feel it? The moment when Janus came crawling out? Or did he just notice their expression, their stiffness?

There’s no way to know without asking him, and that’s hardly an option right now. So Aureli eats their salmon instead. He’s right, it is divine. 

***

After dinner, the guests flow back towards the ballroom. Aureli does not join in on the dancing, rather they drift from group to group, stopping only when someone makes them. Once they’ve done a polite round and danced with Cousin they’ll find a quiet corner to nurse a glass of wine in. 

Or so goes the plan, until she finds them.

The woman in question is human with pale skin and a shock of auburn hair that curls around her rounded cheeks and sits in a braid woven with gold. She stops them with a hand on their arm, with a smile that seems too familiar given Aureli has no idea who in Brighthearth she is. 

‘Aureli,’ she says, voice tinged with familiar affection. ‘You look wonderful. So much like your mother.’

That sets them on edge. Aureli grits their teeth within their smile and inclines their head towards her, ‘Thank you, very kind. I’m afraid you have me at a loss, have we met before Lady…?’

‘Thea,’ she says. Her hand is still on their arm, too warm. ‘I’m from Content. I grew up with Josephine.’

Their breath catches tight in their chest. So many people have spoken to them of their mother, but they either only knew her as a teacher, or from her time at court in Pleasure. Never before have they known someone who knew her before, when she was a child. They had thought, perhaps foolishly, that she’d not had friends. None had come to look for her, when she had disappeared.

‘Oh.’ 

‘You seem surprised,’ Lady Thea tilts her head at them. ‘Though, I suppose I’m to blame for that. I haven’t been at Court in many years.’

‘Why?’ The question is too blunt, too stilted, but Aureli cannot muster the proper manners. 

‘I lost a child,’ she answers, just as bluntly. ‘My daughter. You understand don’t you, how grief can change a person?’

‘My mother-’ they stop themself. Saying _my mother isn’t dead_ has earned them nothing over the years but sneering looks and contempt. ‘My mother is greatly missed. Yes, I understand.’

She smiles. Her hand rubs up and down their arm, a gesture that is perhaps meant to be soothing but instead feels stifling. Aureli wants to shrug her off, but they resist the urge. 

For now, at least.

‘I thought this was the perfect chance to return to Court, to see you and see who you’ve grown into,’ she gives them a smile that dimples her cheeks. ‘I think Josephine would be very proud.’

‘I….thank you.’

They don’t believe her. But it is a pleasant thing to say, they suppose. Especially from someone who actually knew her.

They go to step back, to think about what they might want to ask her about the girl their mother was, when her hand tightens on their arm. They tense, hand tightening around the top of their cane. 

‘Aureli, I know you don’t have your mother to guide you, and your father is...Well, it’s no secret he never leaves the estate back home anymore.’

‘What is your point?’

She ignores the bite to their voice. ‘I just feel as if I should say...I feel like I would be doing your mother a disservice if I did not say-’

‘Get it over with.’

That does give her pause, and her eyes narrow, as if she’s seeing past their gilded facade to who they actually are for the first time. They’re tempted to ask if she still thinks mother would be _proud._

But they don’t. And she takes a deep breath and continues, ‘I’ve heard rumours all day. About you and the tiefling.’

Thea tips her head to the side and Aureli follows the gesture to where Dante is standing half-way across the room, engaged in conversation with a group of four. He’s smiling, nodding attentively as he sips his wine. 

‘What rumours?’

‘That the two of you are...Intimately involved.’

Aureli laughs. The sound is devoid of joy, filled only with surprise and spite. ‘And so what if we are? What business is it of yours?’

‘I only thought it would be right to warn you off this course of action, Aureli, nobody at Court knows him, he seemed to just appear one day-’

‘I know him,’ they snap, snatching their arm out of her grip. ‘Better than I know you.’

She gives them a pinched, forced smile. ‘I know, dear. I just knew I had to say something. Your mother would, if she were here.’

Aureli laughs again, that bitter, biting thing. Their fingers itch with the urge to let their magic rise, to let it flare through their cane and send this woman flying. It is only the problems it would make for Cousin that stop them.

‘If my mother wanted to advise me on who I fell into bed with she should have tried sticking around and not flitting off to Capital to write music,’ they sneer. ‘So do not come to me again with this suggestion of motherly love and advice. I do not know you and I would have it remain that way. Come near me again and you will be thrown out.’

They turn and walk away as quickly as they can without running, without causing a scene. Their face feels hot and their throat is tight with tears, the old grief awake and alive and burning in their heart. 

They walk outside to one of the balconies, resting their palms against the cold marble and taking slow, even breaths. The corset makes difficult work of it but they stay there, trembling, fighting for even breaths until the anger and pain starts to bleed away. 

Did she even know their mother? Impossible to say for certain. They know she _was_ from Content, but Thea could have been a stranger to her, just someone looking to elevate their position by being a confidant of an advisor to the Jarl.

And what she said...Their mother would be proud. Their mother would advise them against falling into bed with Dante.

Were either of those things true? Josephine left them when they were ten years old. She is a memory, and a shoddy one at that. They can’t remember the exact colour of her eyes or the way her voice sounded when she called their name. They hold only snatches of her and even those threaten to slip away as each year stretches out between them.

When they find her - _if_ they find her - what will they even say? ‘Hello, I’m your child who you left and as a result of your leaving I drowned your eldest son and sold his soul and mine to an eldritch being of rage and spite who wants me to destroy everyone I ever get close to. I’m a warlock, her thrall practically, and I’m fucking another warlock who won’t tell me a thing about himself, and despite that I continue to fall into bed with them night after night.’ 

Yes, they can just imagine how proud that will make her. 

The door behind them opens. Aureli stiffens, prepared to tell whoever it is to go away, but when they turn they see Dante watching them.

‘Oh, hello.’

‘Trying to escape already?’

‘You caught me,’ they tease, even as they stumble over the words. ‘I was about to jump the balcony and run for it.’

Dante laughs as he makes his way over to them, winding his arms around their waist and resting his head on their shoulder. ‘I’m sure I could catch you. You’re so terribly old now, after all.’

Aureli lets themself relax back into the warmth of him. They take his hands, holding them between their own. ‘Oh am I?’

‘Twenty five,’ he croons against their cheek. ‘Ancient, love. I think I see a grey hair or two.’

For the first time since entering the ballroom, they laugh. ‘And I’m supposed to believe you’re younger than me?’

‘Love you wound me, I’m the picture of youth!’

Another laugh as their fingers trace over the tattooed lines of his hands. ‘Oh? Then where did you find the time to get all these in your few, meager years?’

‘Perhaps I had them all done on the same day.’

‘Knowing you that would actually not surprise me at all.’

Dante laughs and hugs them against him, the chains at the front of his outfit tickling cold against their exposed upper back. 

They’re quiet for a time, listening to the sound of the party pouring out onto the slice of pale stillness that they’ve found. Aureli stares at the plains in the distance, the lines of rolling sand and dry rocks that are made white in the moonlight. Their hands roam over Dante’s slowly, considering, tracing the lines of his ink and rubbing around the piercings in his knuckles.

‘How old are you?’ they ask eventually. 

Such a simple question.

‘It’s rude to ask a lady their age,’ he says, because of course he will not answer. 

‘You are not a lady.’

‘Fine, a lord.’ He giggles, but Aureli stays stiff in his arms. 

‘Oh, love. What’s wrong with a little mystery?’

‘You are all mystery.’

‘And doesn’t that make me all the more alluring?’

They turn in his arms to look up at him; at the eyes of ink that surround his own mismatched pupils, at the piercings that slice through his skin to make him glitter in the liminal light. Everything about him seems purposefully painted and designed to say: _look at me, look at me,_ and yet everything real about him is hidden behind a wall too high for Aureli to climb.

‘You would be alluring to me no matter what.’

Dante tilts his head at them. ‘Really? I have some truly awful habits.’

It’s a useless fight. Better to engage in flirtation instead, rather than let themself get frustrated. ‘I know, you dog-ear your books when you want to mark the page.’

‘And yet you take me to bed anyway.’

‘And yet,’ Aureli smiles, despite the headache blooming in the base of their skull. ‘I should go back inside. I owe Cousin a dance.’

He catches their hand in his and raises it to his lips, leaving no print of his lipstick. ‘Would you save one for me?’

They step towards him, leaning up to place a kiss against his lips so chaste it can hardly be called a kiss at all. ‘For my palace doorknob, anything.’

His laughter follows them back inside, though soon the sound of music and voices smothers it all. They move through the bodies and voices until they find Cousin; he’s talking with Lord Lucia, though by the lack of tension in Cousin’s shoulders it seems it’s not about his loyalties.

‘Good evening sweet Cousin, good evening Lord Lucia,’ Aureli says, inclining their head. ‘I wonder, if it isn’t too much trouble, if I might steal Cousin for a dance?’

‘Good evening Noble Aureli, and congratulations on your birthday.’

Aureli hardly thinks a birthday deserves congratulations. But they give him a tight-lipped smile all the same before their attention turns entirely to their Cousin, ‘Many thanks. Well Cousin?’

‘Of course!’ he beams. ‘Lord Lucia, please excuse me.’

They make their way through the crowd to where people are dancing in swirling circles. The song ends not long after and Aureli passes their cane to a servant to hold before they step into the space and allow their Cousin to lead. The music is supplied by a band of various musicians that Aureli refuses to look at too closely, lest a shock of white hair over a harp remind them of their mother. She is present enough here tonight as it is. 

The music is quick and lively and Cousin leads them in spinning and dipping across the room. The world around them blurs just enough that Aureli can forget all the cruel faces watching, can just let themself enjoy the experience of being here, listening to their Cousin laugh as he steps on their toes and fumbles a move. They almost crash into another pair of dancers at one point; were Cousin not the Jarl they might have been asked to leave the dance area for that. 

But he is the Jarl and so they finish their dance with a burst of breathless laughter.

‘You handled yourself with grace as always, Cousin.’

He laughs, shoving their shoulder playfully. He is still strong enough comparatively to stagger them a little. ‘Such a cruel tongue! A lesser man might be wounded.’

‘A lesser man might not have wounded me, my toes might never recover.’

He hooks them into a hug, pulling them tight against his chest. This is partially genuine affection, they know that, but also for show, to say to the Court: see how I love them? I’m your chosen Jarl and they have my trust. 

They love him. They do not deserve him.

‘I thought you two might send that couple flying,’ Dante laughs as he steps up beside them. He reaches up, adjusting the sash of fabric that hangs over Cousin’s chest, friendly and familiar. ‘One of you in particular, that is.’

‘Oh, not you as well,’ Cousin says. ‘I cannot take this mockery from both sides.’

‘I shall let you escape us then, my Jarl,’ Dante smirks. ‘I wanted to steal your cousin away for a dance, to see if we could possibly match your talent.’

Cousin narrows his eyes at Dante but he’s smiling, playful. Not for the first time Aureli wonders what exactly their relationship is - they don’t think they’re sleeping together, or romantically involved, but they still can’t figure out how Dante came to not just be at court but seemingly his closest advisor. 

‘You’ve been stealing my cousin quite often of late,’ he says and shoots a look between them.

Aureli rolls their eyes but Dante only gives a little chuckle, sounding almost pleased. ‘I admit it, they make for quite the delightful bit of company. Whatever shall we do when they leave us again, hm?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you two will have enough to deal with, you’ll not have a chance to think of me at all.’

‘Now Aureli, don’t say such terrible things,’ Dante teases. 

‘We shall miss you night and day,’ Cousin agrees. ‘One of us in particular, that is.’

Dante claims he doesn’t blush, being already red, but there’s a definite tint to his cheeks at that. 

Aureli takes pity on him. ‘Thank you, Cousin, but I do believe Dante wanted a dance. We should go now before the next one starts and we cause chaos trying to barge in.’

‘Yes, I know how the two of you are opposed to chaos,’ Cousin says, and he takes Aureli’s cane as they take Dante’s arm and walk away. 

‘I’ve heard people wonder how you two are related but I have to imagine they just have never seen you together,’ Dante mutters. 

Aureli laughs, stepping into his embrace and resting one hand on his shoulder while the other he takes in his and holds to the side. Dante’s free hand touches their waist then slips lower, resting in the dip of their spine before their ass. It isn’t _quite_ improper, but it’s close, and Aureli raises their eyebrows at him.

He only smirks in return, and the music begins.

The dance this time is slower, though not by much, the pace is still lively enough that it keeps them turning in circles and intricate steps around the space. Dante is a much more competent dancer than Cousin. He moves with the same flirtatious grace he has when he walks and Aureli is happy to follow it, to let him lead them without around the room. 

He dips them once and above him the candles in the chandeliers glitter, making him look backed by starlight. They bite their tongue to stop themself saying anything foolish. 

And then it is over. They slowly come to a halt as the music swells to a close and they stand in each other’s arms, Aureli looking up at him. 

They want to kiss him. 

But to kiss him here, so very publicly, would be an admission of what they are, or what Aureli hopes they are at least. What they’ve been doing isn’t a secret, isn’t wrong, but to make it something the court can see is a different matter entirely.

But then, rumours are already circulating. Everyone already knows. So why not let them see they were right? Aureli isn’t ashamed. 

But what if Dante doesn’t want that? He might have other lovers watching them in this room even now. Maybe he doesn’t want one so public. Maybe if they go to kiss him, he’ll turn them away. Aureli’s not sure they could stand that. 

But it’s their birthday, and they’ve spent the last few months crawling through dungeons and bleeding out in the dirt and if they did all that they can be brave here too, even if it means getting a wound as painful as any knife blade in the side. 

They lean up slowly. Their intent is clear. He has plenty of time to move away. But he doesn’t, and when they kiss them, he kisses them back. Barely a brush of their lips together, a soft, chaste thing, but even so Aureli feels the ripple of murmurs through the room. 

When they pull back, Dante gives their hip a squeeze. 

‘Thank you for the dance,’ they say.

‘Thank _you_ , honoured birthday guest.’

Aureli smiles and they part, Dante moving back off into the crowd and Aureli back towards Cousin with their cane.

‘This is what you want?’ he asks as he hands it to them. He isn’t talking about the cane.

‘It is,’ Aureli says. ‘And he dances much better than you, you might want to request lessons before my next birthday.’

'Cousin,’ he says, voice more serious than they would like. ‘I want you to do what will make you happy. And if this is it? Then I will support it, of course.’ 

‘But?’

He shrugs. ‘No but, only that I want you to be sure.’

What can they tell him? That they are not sure of anything anymore? That Dante is as uncertain as anything else? They shrug, mimicking him instead. ‘I am sure as I can be about anything right now.’

Cousin only looks at them, doubt written plain on his features.

‘I feel a lightness when I am with him,’ Aureli says. Then, after a long and reluctant pause. ‘I feel happy.’

It’s dangerous to admit to happiness. That’s when it becomes most likely the world will snatch it away again.

Cousin makes a sound caught halfway between a laugh and a sigh. ‘Was that so hard to admit to?’

‘You know I have no experience in these matters,’ Aureli snaps. ‘I’m doing my best.’

‘I - _cousin,’_ he chides, with a gentleness Aureli is not sure they deserve. ‘I meant no offence. I only want the best for you.’

‘I know, I know. I apologise. That was unkind of me.’ They reach up to pat his shoulder then step back, retreating into the crowd.

They endure the party an hour longer. They wander, sipping red wine that sits warm and heavy in their gut. They don’t dance again - their legs feel too uncertain for that. They wander the crowds, make polite conversation and then, at last, start to head towards the door.

They wave at Cousin so he knows they’ve left and then their eyes scan the crowd until they find Dante. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the other guests over the mouth of his wine glass.

When he spots them looking he smirks and Aureli tilts their head towards the doors. They aren’t sure if he’ll follow them now or later, but a thrill goes up their spine when he starts moving towards them.

‘You’re welcome to stay,’ Aureli says as they step out of the ballroom. The heat is lesser out here away from the main mass of bodies, but there are still a few crowds gathered, talking over drinks. 

‘And miss the chance to peel you out of this? Never.’ Dante says, winding an arm around them and pulling them in. 

Aureli laughs and they can feel the eyes on them. Let them look, let them see, prudish Aureli smitten and stealing off with a lover. Court will talk for weeks. Aureli will be far away, away from it. And Dante is likely to get more amusement out of it than anything else.

Together, they walk arm in arm through the palace back to the living quarters. The crowds thin out as they go, until they are the only ones, alone at last. Aureli takes a deep breath when they’re finally in their bedroom, finally away from it all.

‘Are you as exhausted as I am?’

Dante laughs. He unwinds his sandals and sets them by the door, then stretches out his back. ‘You’re out of practise,’ he says, stepping towards them. ‘Being an adventurer now and all.’

Aureli hums and puts their arms around his neck. ‘Is that what I am?’

Dante steps closer until the heat of his body presses against theirs. They bite their lip in anticipation and he grins, ‘We should have given the guests rusty swords, smeared mud over their cheeks, thrown in an undead or two. That would have helped, hm?’

Aureli is laughing as he kisses them. The sound slips between their lips and Dante drinks it in as he presses against them, putting his arms around them to hold them tight. Is it foolish, how nice it feels to be back in his arms? Perhaps. But they feel it all the same. 

This is the kiss they’ve wanted all night; long and deep, their lips parting, Dante’s tongue flicking against theirs, sliding against their lower lip. They can taste the wine on his tongue as their mouths meet, can feel his lip rings rubbing against their skin. 

He presses them back against the door and the length of chains around his throat press cold against their exposed neck and throat. Aureli moans against him at the feeling and Dante’s hands tighten around them in response.

‘You’re standing on my dress,’ Aureli whispers when they part.

Dante’s lipstick is smeared, and they can only imagine how their own lips look. 

‘Am I?’ he looks down at where he’s stood on the layers of silk. ‘Hm, I am. I suppose we had better take it off you then, hadn’t we?’ 

‘I suppose so.’

They walk past him towards the bed, resting their hands against the edge of the bed frame. Dante steps up behind them, his hands making quick work of the laces that hold the back of their dress together. The fabric slides away from them in a soft rustle of silk and lace and Aureli steps out of it, kicking it out of the way.

‘I think that counts as worse than standing on it.’

‘It’s my dress, I can do as I please.’

Dante steps behind them, arms sliding around their waist, fingers tracing over the delicate boning of the corset as he moves lower and lower until he grips their cock through the lace of their underwear. Aureli gasps and as they arch into his touch they feel his mouth on their throat, sucking at the sensitive skin. 

They catch sight of them both in the mirror of the vanity; Aureli with black smeared across their mouth, Dante’s red hands and golden nails against the white of the corset, his black hair curling against their throat. He glances up and his mis-matched eyes meet theirs in the mirror. They feel the grin against their skin. 

‘I had people ask me about you tonight,’ Dante whispers, his breath hot against their ear.

As he speaks, he slides a hand beneath their underwear to wind his fingers around their cock. Aureli whines, biting their lip to try and hold back the sound and Dante moans under his breath at it, pressing the sound against their skin.

‘Is it true I’m your lover? They’ve heard whispers, rumours, apparently we can’t keep our hands off of each other.’

His curled fingers slide slowly along their cock, to the base and up along the shaft again. His thumb rolls in circles along the head and Aureli shakes against him. They want to reply, but all that comes out is another moan as his fingers squeeze gently around them. 

‘Is it true you’re Aureli’s lover? But how? They’re so cold, it must be like slipping into bed with ice,’ Dante pauses, his teeth pressing against their throat, sucking a red welt into the skin and groaning against them as Aureli pants and shakes. 

‘I wonder what they’d say if they could see you now, hm?’ he pushes the lace down and around their hips so in the mirror they can see his hand as it moves over the flushed heat of their cock. 

‘I don’t want them to see me like this,’ Aureli manages eventually, their voice strangled with want. ‘Just you.’ 

Dante presses a kiss against their cheek, close to their mouth and yet not, not quite. ‘Just me?’

‘Yes,’ Aureli whispers, trying to turn enough to kiss him but they keep just out of reach. Were it not for his hand still moving around their cock it might be torture. ‘Or have you changed your mind? Are you ready to share me?’

Their eyes meet in the mirror. Aureli arches their hips, pushing their cock into his fist, watching the spread of blush that spreads down their thighs and up from the corset. 

They can feel Dante’s cock rubbing against their ass. He makes no attempt to hide it as he grinds against them, using his free hand to pull them back against him. ‘No,’ he whispers. ‘I’m not.’ 

He places a wet kiss to their throat and drops to his knees behind them. Aureli expects him to turn them, to get his mouth on their cock, but instead he presses a hand against the dip of their spine to encourage them to bend over.

‘What are you…?’ Aureli mumbles as they bend down to rest their torso on the bed, the rest of the sentence stolen from them as Dante leans in and presses his mouth against their ass. 

The sensation of his mouth against them is strange, but not in an unpleasant way. It feels _good,_ the way his tongue flicks into them, fucking inside with quick, fast movements. Aureli grips the bedding between their fists, pressing a whine into the silk as they grind back onto his face.

Dante’s fingers bite into the soft skin of their ass he grips them tighter to press his tongue deeper, to curl it inside them to make them shake. But this angle, with the corset, there’s only so long they can be breathless like this before it starts to hurt.

‘Darling,’ Aureli says, the rest cut off as Dante fucks his tongue into them again and they curl over with a moan. ‘Darling, as gorgeous as you are, I need to take this corset off.’

‘Of course, love,’ Dante whispers and places another kiss against them before he stands up. ‘Now, let’s see if I’ve had too much wine to get you out of this.’

‘It would be embarrassing to have the servants see me like this.’

Dante snorts as he helps them to their feet. ‘What, with your underwear around your knees and my lipstick all over you?’

Despite the fact he’s just been between their thighs fucking them with his mouth, that makes Aureli blush. They turn around, which does nothing to hide from his teasing since they can see him in the mirror. 

‘I will take my underwear off when you take this corset off of me.’

‘Do you promise?’ Dante says, and he gets both of his hands on their ass and squeezes. 

‘Yes,’ Aureli says, their words barely more than a gasp. 

He kisses their shoulder and starts to work on the ties of the corset. Ribbon by ribbon he loosens them out of the tightness until he can peel it away. There are marks along their stomach and rib cage from where the bones pressed into them all evening and Dante runs the tips of his nails along the lines, following the patterns made on their skin.

‘There,’ he says and tosses it aside. ‘Your turn.’

Aureli smirks and steps out of their lace underwear. They turn to face him, completely bare now save for the marks he’s left on them. ‘Actually darling, I think it’s your turn.’

They lean up to kiss him, pressing their body against his fully clothed one to feel the way it makes him shiver. He rakes nails along their spine in a way they know will leave them with red marks and Aureli moans into the kiss as Dante takes their lower lip between his teeth and tugs on it. 

Then comes the matter of the chains he’s wearing. Aureli takes their time, carefully undoing the necklace first then following the lines of it down until they reach the chains attached to his nipples. They fumble with the piercings, their fingers stiff and clumsy as usual, not meant for delicate work like this. 

‘The look of concentration is very sweet.’

‘I’m being careful,’ Aureli says. ‘I know you like a bit of pain but I doubt you’d thank me if I ripped your nipples off.’

That makes Dante laugh, which makes his chest shake, which makes Aureli shout: ‘Stop it!’ Which makes Dante laugh harder which makes the entire task impossible. Aureli hands him the chain they’ve unwound and sits down on the bed with a huff. 

‘I’m sorry, love,’ he says, still laughing, not sorry at all. 

‘You’ll be sorry when I go to bed alone.’

Dante pouts at them as he, with an annoying lack of effort, slips the chain piercings from his nipples and finishes unwinding the chain. ‘Consider me suitably chastised.’

They narrow their eyes at him, but it’s impossible to keep it up when he’s crawling onto the bed, crawling onto their lap and pushing them backwards until they’re laying flat on the bed. The silk of his gown is cold as it pools around them and Dante leans in, stopping inches from their lips. ‘Can I have a kiss? Or are you still pouting?’

‘I don’t pout,’ they say, pouting.

‘Oh, you’re a better liar than that.’

Aureli kisses him to stop his teasing. They lick their way into his mouth, bite at his lips, suck on the wet lines of his lip rings. Dante moans against them, his hips grinding down onto them but the cold press of his gown between them keeps them apart. Aureli wants the heat of him against them, wants to feel his cock against their own.

‘Sit up,’ they whisper. ‘I want to undress you.’

Dante sits up, kneeling between their thighs. He helps Aureli into sitting, then they work their legs round to kneel opposite him. They stroke their hands over his chest, working open the lines of silk that spill down his chest. Slowly, they untie the sash at his waist and push the silk loose, baring his torso to the dim light.

There’s something about this moment; the quiet, the intimacy of Aureli slowly undressing him, the heat between their bodies, it makes them suddenly horribly aware how quickly this will be taken from them. They look up from the silk pooling around his waist, suddenly feeling their breath tight in their chest.

‘Dante,’ they whisper. 

Can he feel it too? They don’t know. They never know with him. 

‘Aureli,’ he answers. ‘What is it, love?’

‘Tell me you’ll remember this. That my leaving doesn’t have to be the end of this - of us.’

Whatever Dante had been expecting them to say, that evidently was not it. His eyes widen and he tilts his head at them, his mouth opening without sound.

‘I don’t want monogamy. Take a thousand other lovers-‘

‘-I’m not sure where I’d find time-‘ he starts to joke, but they don’t let him finish, the words are pouring out of them in a rush now. 

‘But remember me. Us. This. And if you don’t want to that’s - you can do that. But tell me, please.’

Dante tips their face up towards him. When he speaks, he’s still joking, still teasing, though his smirk is starting to falter at the edges. ‘Lover-’

‘Don’t,’ Aureli says in a rush. ‘Don’t flatter me, don’t appease me, don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Be honest with me, please.’

He hesitates. ‘Even if you don’t like the answer?’

The idea of that makes a pit open up in their stomach, makes them feel as if they’re teetering on the edge of something too large for them to comprehend. But what was it Anya said? _I knew you could be brave._

‘Even if.’

‘What if what I tell you makes you angry? What if it hurts you?’

The urge to lie is automatic. To appease, to say, no, no it won’t make me mad. But he knows them too well for that. 

‘I will be gone in two days, I can be angry elsewhere. And I would rather be angry and hurting now than truly heartbroken later.’

They know what a risk it is to say the word, to admit their heart is involved in this at all. Dante tilts his head at them, narrows his eyes. His pale teeth curl over the swell of his ink black lip and he bites down, considering. 

‘Please,’ Aureli whispers. Their legs are starting to tremble from kneeling for so long. ‘Just be honest with me, Dante.’

He takes their face between his hands, the pointed tips of his nails resting against their temples. The expression he wears is tender, soft beyond belief, like he’ll break if pressed too hard. ‘I told you before that you were someone special to me. Did you believe me?’

‘I wanted to.’

‘So believe it,’ he kisses them, just once, and his lips are wet and warm. ‘Believe me, Aureli.’

Aureli wants to. They want to desperately. And though he is a liar the same as them he is looking at them with a softness they have never seen, looking at them like he wants them to believe it and not just because it’s easier for him but perhaps because it is true. 

‘I will,’ they whisper. ‘I do.’

They fall back onto the bed together then, Aureli pulling the sash at Dante’s waist free so the rest of his gown falls away. They’re almost naked, the only thing left his underwear and the stockings wrapped around his thighs. 

Aureli wants them gone. They want him bare, nothing between them. 

Their hands trace along the lines of his spine, down and down until they can work their fingertips against that sensitive nub of flesh where his tail meets his back. Dante moans against their lips and they press tighter to that spot, wanting him to shiver against them, wanting to feel his cock rub hard and heavy against their hip. The only thing better than their own pleasure is drinking in Dante’s and watching him tremble apart. 

When he makes a sound that’s just a fraction too low to be a whine, Aureli smirks and leaves his tail, moving down to get their hands beneath his underwear. They dig their nails into the soft skin of his ass, kneading it between greedy fingers as Dante rolls his hips back to meet their touch, to chase the pressure of their hands. 

‘You promised I could unwrap you,’ Aureli says. ‘Get on your back for me.’

Dante raises his eyebrows. ‘Impatient.’

‘It’s been hours since you showed me, I’ve been more patient than most.’

He grins. ‘Maybe I want to make you wait a little longer.’

‘You can’t taunt me like this, it’s my birthday.’

Dante kisses their forehead, the tip of their nose, their wet lips. ‘Oh, but here I am, lover, taunting.’

But he’s not the only one who can tease. Aureli slides a hand up, dragging their nails across that sensitive point of his tail, then winding their fingers around his tail to give it a slight tug. That wipes the smirk off of his face and he breaks, shuddering, the moan low and wonderful. 

‘And here I am too.’

Dante huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at them. ‘What am I going to do with myself when you’re gone, hm? All my other lovers will seem so boring.’

Aureli shrugs, feeling smug, feeling that go straight to their head. ‘You’ll just have to come see me in Capital then, won’t you?’

‘I think I’ll finish with you here first,’ Dante says. 

He kisses them again, deep and devastating. Never mind him finding other lovers, how will anyone ever compare to how he kisses them? Dante kisses them like he wants to devour them, like he wants each kiss to be remembered. He kisses them until they’re breathless, until they’re whimpering with want against him.

‘Fuck me Dante,’ they whisper. ‘Fuck me in those stockings.’

He whispers a yes against their lips and moves away enough to remove his underwear - golden lace, matching the stockings - and pluck a vial of oil from the bedside drawer. Then they’re kissing again, their bare bodies grinding together, Aureli whining at the feeling of his hot, naked skin against theirs. 

They roll over, arching their back towards him and Dante presses another biting kiss against the curve of their ass, as his oiled fingers slip inside them and fuck them open inch by wonderful inch. He takes them like that, Aureli on their knees, clutching a pillow beneath their head as he settles between their parted thighs and thrusts his cock inside them.

Like this, he can fuck into him deep and rough, and they can see him as he does in the reflection of the vanity. They love to watch him come undone; pleasure on Dante is a beautiful sight.

As his cock slides into the wet heat of them they see Dante’s eyes close and his lips part. He squeezes at their hips, anchoring himself inside them. They watch as he breathes, as he bites his lower lip and rolls it between his teeth. Their own eyes are half-lidded, the feeling of him inside them blissful and thick and when he rocks his hips they moan desperately against the pillow clutched in their hands. 

He doesn’t waste time fucking them slowly. Both are too close for that, too desperate after all the teasing and lead up. Dante takes them hard with rough, shallow thrusts that make their toes curl as they arch their hips back to meet him.

It doesn’t take long for pleasure to build white hot in their gut, shaking through their thighs and building there until they come apart with a strangled cry of his name. Dante clutches them tighter, says their name in response on a whisper and he holds their hips still so he can fuck into them again, harder and harder until he comes apart.

Aureli watches him as he does; the way his dark hair falls around his face, the sweat glinting along the lines of his tattoos, the way his jaw clenches as he grits his teeth around the feeling of pleasure. When he comes a shiver jerks up the length of his spine and his head tips back, his hair falling away from his face, exposing the eye tattooed in the centre of his forehead. He gasps at the ceiling, loosening his hold on them until he can move enough to slip out.

They collapse beside each other, breathless and spent. Aureli’s entire body aches from a day too busy for their limbs to keep up with, but even so they push themself up just enough to flop onto his chest. 

‘We should move over to the pillows,’ Dante mumbles. 

‘We should,’ Aureli agrees.

Neither of them move for a long, long time. 

***

They don’t sleep for a long time, despite their mutual exhaustion. Aureli insists on unwrapping their present; they peel the stockings off of Dante’s thighs, pressing kisses along the length of his calves, sinking their teeth into the tender skin by his groin to leave imprints of their teeth. His cock is hard again then and they take him in their mouth, pulling him towards pleasure as his hands tangle in the braids of their hair and his hips thrust off of the bed to bury his cock in the tight warmth of their mouth until he comes with a gasp. They drink in every inch of what spills down their throat. 

After, he fucks them with his fingers while his other hand works their cock in his clenched fist. They come with him pressed against their back, his mouth working more bites and welts into their throat and shoulder.

Eventually, somewhere after that, they make it to the cushions and fall asleep. 

Aureli wakes once in the night to find the bed empty. They fumble around the sheets, too sleep-addled to really worry, but awake enough to be confused. The sheets beside them are cold. 

‘Dante?’ they mumble. Is he gone? Did he leave them in the night? 

Sleep pulls them back down, not content to let go of them yet. They wake again to the click of the bedroom door and sit up slowly as they see a figure stepping through the darkness.

‘Dante,’ they repeat. ‘You left.’

He’s wearing their robe, the one Cousin gave them for their birthday. He takes it off just before sliding back into bed. He’s cold. 

‘Sorry, love, did I wake you? I just had to step out to deal with some business.’

Aureli shivers as he pulls them gently against him. ‘You’re cold. And you had my new robe.’

‘I am, you’ll have to warm me up,’ he says, tucking them in the sheets again. ‘And it was the nearest thing to hand. You’re one to talk, the way you’ve been stealing mine.’

‘I will give you one of my other robes in return,’ they mumble, tucking their head against the crook of his neck. His tattoos have the faintest glow to them. Whatever business it was, it involved magic. 

They’re not a stranger to Dante being up during the night. He has two moods; he either sleeps through without waking, or he’s up all night, reading until dawn or pacing and muttering. Something keeps him awake. They have a feeling they know what. 

They’re too tired to push for answers. Instead, they get their arms around him and pull him close, winding their legs through his to warm his cold body with their own that’s warm from sleep. 

‘I’ll remind you of that, in the morning,’ he teases softly. His fingers dance up along their spine, tickling against them. 

‘You do that. I want you to have one to remember me.’

‘Oh love,’ Dante says, his voice quiet and serious suddenly in the dark. ‘Do you really think I could forget?’

Whatever answer they might have given is stolen as sleep rises up once more to claim them, not releasing them until morning. 

***

They intend to spend the next day in bed. But of course, nothing can last. No happiness can stay. Instead, the morning servant brings two letters to them. 

One is from an unmarked sender. It contains a cryptic note; _Your master is in the wrong and so are you. Cease or witness your death._

They’re ready to pull the note apart with Dante, until they read the second. From Anya. Milly. It’s about Milly. She’s been taken. 

Which means they have to go, doesn’t it? Their last precious days here, snatched from them. 

They stare at the letter for a long time. Dante has gone to check in with Cousin about how the guests are faring. They’ll have to go find him, find both of them, and tell them the news. 

They stay in bed as long as they can. Delay until they can delay no more.

Then they throw on a robe and head out to find them. When they do, Dante is wearing one of their silk robes, a pale silver that looks lovely on him. The sight is almost enough to make Aureli cry. 

But they don’t. This is the way of things. Their mother proved that, Clarence proved that. When you are happy, and when you love something, it is taken from you. 

And all they can do is hope that perhaps, this time, they can get it back. 


End file.
